


Like a Blister in the Sun

by heyfrenchfreudiana



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Feels, In which Tony does nothing to help things, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Prompt Fill, Someone gives Steve porn, because I can't write porn without feels, because reasons, not sure how to tag this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 12:16:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4059676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyfrenchfreudiana/pseuds/heyfrenchfreudiana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The prompt (in my words) from Ice326: "Natasha is gone for a long time and no communication with Steve, and he really misses her and can't help it, he has to touch himself just thinking of her and then ooops she comes home and catches him".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Blister in the Sun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ice326](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ice326/gifts).



> Unbeta'd. Also, I made the mistake of reading someone else's smut when I was writing the end, and that author used present tense. Man, that messed me up. So any tense errors and the like will hopefully be fixed when I troll over my work tomorrow and hit refresh ten or so times in an ego-driven way to check on how this little number was received.
> 
> Also, thanks to dresupi for inspiration and help in figuring out the trifecta :)

It came up every now and then, often a reason for Steve Rogers to cringe, but maybe it was par for the course in being a public and political figure. Snap judgments about everything from his beliefs related to prayer in school to whether or not he actually liked apple pie. Part of the dance was to figure out when it was worth it to correct public opinion (or maybe just the opinion of whichever political commentator was yakking on TV), and when it was better to let everyone believe what they wanted.

The two clear reasons for allowing people to think whatever they wanted (besides the fact that people do that anyway), were that everyone had been given sixty-five year head start in creating myths and legends, and that sometimes what they assumed had truth and validity.

So he’d been pigeon-holed as the good Christian boy-next-door who would never ( _enter whichever naughty thing_ ). Many of those myths had shades of truth. Sometimes it wasn’t that he’d never but rather that those were definitely the kinds of things one did in a monogamous relationship ( _something that, yes, had passed Steve by for almost a century_ ).

Of course, a lot of those things had been crossed off a mental checklist as soon as he’d entered into relationship ( _hallelujah, it was safe to call it that now_ ), with Natasha. He knew she secretly delighted in being his first, for many and most things, and he knew that she also secretly delighted in finding ways that Steve Rogers was definitely a lot more obscene than Captain America.

For his part, Steve didn’t find it all too bad to discover all of the different ways he could make her wiggle and cry and heat up hotter than any firecracker you could pop off in the summertime. She’d gotten them into half-a-dozen situations where he was sure they would get arrested or in trouble with someone, ( _"like Fox News wouldn’t have its own orgasm watching a Russian assassin riding Captain America’s dick in the bathroom of the presidential library", she’d laughed breathlessly that one time, and he had been too far gone to argue_ ).

And he was pretty sure that if he was ever going to marry someone it would be her, though he was also confident that things were just fine as they were. Natasha’s body and her charm and her fantastic ability to be whatever men wanted was part of her job, but he knew that he (at least) wasn’t interested in anyone else and so he decided that much commitment would do just fine for the present.

Which was how other preconceived notions, very much related to everyone’s mixed up ideas about the 1930’s and 40’s, related to his sexuality came up. Captain America, the virgin who never cursed. The American public liked the idea of a Captain who only had sex for procreation (missionary position), and who was tighter than the double knot he used on his gym shoes.

Natasha Romanoff knew better, and he was grateful for it.

“I’m going to make sure that this memory is with you while I’m gone, Rogers,” she’d purred as she crawled on the floor of his living room until she was between his knees wearing nothing but red lipstick and heels, her hair up all tight in a bun he couldn’t wait to pull loose.

It was the night before a big mission, before she’d be under the radar and out of his grasp, an unfortunate and sometimes frustrating part of the job. He didn’t know if she’d be in Thailand or Texas and he missed her already.

It only killed him a little to consider how she did her job or that she might have to kill someone while dressed like sex personified. That she might have to pretend, as though she wasn’t his girl or anyone’s girl and that anything less could compromise her assignment or worse. He tried very hard to push those thoughts aside.

“Natasha, you could be wearing a potato sack and it would get me hot,” he confessed while she was running her hands up his thighs.

“So while I’m away, you’re going to be jerking off to me in a burlap sack?” she smirked, shaking her bottom just so, teasing him because she still hadn’t done much except hint that she was going to give his dick some attention, (he was just about to start begging because good Lord his khakis felt tight).

“Natasha, I wouldn’t…” he cleared his throat, not because he wouldn’t or didn’t but really because that wasn’t the kind of thing he supposed he should discuss with his girlfriend.

“Jack off?” she interrupted, her thumbs digging into the insides of his thighs. “You don’t?”

“No!” he said a little too quickly. The way she raised an eyebrow in combination with the fact that she was still completely naked in front of him and the game that they were playing that he was harder than hard but neither one of them had made any kind of definitive move to attend to that, maybe making his tongue a little looser.

“No… Yes… Wait, do you?” he stammered, because he wasn’t sure what the right answer was.

He thought about any number of times that he had, to release tension or because Natasha had been incommunicado or even just out of boredom, and he flashed to any number of scenes that replayed through his mind when he had himself in his hand. He hadn’t imagined yet what it would look like when Natasha was blowing off her own steam, though the endless possibilities that flooded his imagination only made him more impatient for her to stop teasing him in that particular moment.

Of course he masturbated. Again with those preconceived notions that he was old-fashioned and therefore about as sexual as the manual for how to operate a coffee pot. Yeah he’d grown up during an older time, when maybe some things weren’t so obvious, and yeah he’d grown up in a God-fearing home. But he’d also grown up with a mother who was a nurse, who’d come home and tell him all sorts of stories about the dangers of the clap and the importance of rubbers.

She’d never explicitly said “masturbation is normal” or “sex isn’t a bad thing,” because even though Sarah Rogers was a single mother who worked longer hours than she should have, sometimes maybe raising a few eyebrows from nosy neighbors herself, he later realized she was also probably a bit more open than a lot of other mothers at the time.

He got the obligatory “don’t get a girl pregnant” lecture, maybe because she thought she should say something if he was friends with Bucky (not that Bucky’s luck with women rubbed off on him or anything), just with added information about how scientists were showing that it was healthy and normal as long as he didn’t shirk any duties and kept things clean.

“Oh, Steve,” Natasha said in a low voice, and he knew it was because she loved it when he got embarrassed. “I want to take this conversation in about five hundred different directions…”

“Can we talk about it later?” He asked, reaching for one of her breasts because she hadn’t said he couldn’t.

Her breath caught in her throat the way he knew it would and Natasha leaned into his hand, her mouth consequently too close to his belt. It was all the push she needed, apparently, because only seconds later she was working on the zipper and then he was finally free (of course depending on the definition of “free” as she was certainly holding a lot of power with his cock in her hands…)

“Steve, what’s the deal with masturbation?’ she asked innocently even as she had her fist around him and he could feel her breath, hot and wonderful. He would have done some illegal things just then to get those red lips around him, the fact that she knew it even more torturous.

“Natasha, please…” he stopped short of begging, his blood warming up because she was definitely creating a memory that he would be more than delighted to use later. Adjusting on the couch, he couldn’t really help the obvious way he bucked his hips into her hand, part simulation and part passive aggressive attempt to bring himself just a little closer to her mouth.

“You’re going to remember this,” she asserted before nibbling gently on his thigh.

“Jesus, Natasha…” he panted, shivering when she’d finally darted her tongue to his head.

She looked up and grinned, and he could almost see the wheels turning in her brain, but he didn’t have space to care because her mouth was so perfectly wet and warm and soft, and good heavens that thing she did with her tongue… She’d just promised a memory and yeah, it would be pretty damn impossible to get even just the sounds of her sucking or the way he could see his dick against her cheek when she turned her head _just so…_

And then as she licked her lips when he’d finished and he had a flash of inspiration and courage.

“I’d like to think that I don’t need to because I have you,” he smiled weakly, hoping it made sense.

Natasha, to her credit, waited until he was out of her mouth before she started laughing. And even then, it was really only a small chuckle, a rumble in her chest that echoed even as she came up close-lipped to face him, moving her knees on either side of his thighs so that he was face to face with her, skin that smelled a little sweet and a little like him.

“You don’t need anything else because you have me,” she raised an eyebrow, hips rocking unfairly because he wasn’t even inside her yet and _goddammit, he was still wearing pants._

“Well, yeah, of course,” he answered, lifting his chin so that she would kiss him again, a hand snaking between her legs because even though he was patient, a little bit of persuasion wouldn’t hurt anyone.

“So when I go, you aren’t going to jerk off?” She tipped her head to the side in suspicion, her face totally disconnected from the way she was bucking against his palm. “I’m all you need…”

“I promise,” he said with a straight-face, not considering the consequences to that promise, because all he really wanted to do was be inside her.

He had forgotten how competitive she was, until he was finally there and a handful of thrusts away from weeping. Her brilliantly focused eyes had turned glassy and he’d been enjoying the way she’d just leaned back and gripped his knees because a different view of her breasts was just what he needed. And then he didn’t know whether or not to reach for her clit or that nipple that was jutting out to tease him, even though both seemed like a viable option…

“I think we should establish some ground rules,” she announced, a renewed determination in her face as she brought her body back close to him.

 _Ground rules._ Steve had only been about to lick the salt off her shoulder when he realized he should have thought a little harder about the consequences.

“Natasha…” he said her name as a warning, even though he loved her creativity and her games and the way she pushed at his boundaries. Regardless, it seemed a little unfair to make demands when he was so deep inside her. Bucking his hips a little harder, he hoped he could distract her.

“No touching when I’m gone,” she said as she clutched the collar of his shirt. Even with the glint in her eyes, he knew she was serious. “Not even a little. Not even accidentally.”

“Of course,” he nodded, his hand lose against the back of her neck to bring her lips closer. “Easy.”

“Or else…” she said in a cautionary tone as she clenched around him. He had to laugh because any kind of punishment from Natasha was still just fine.

“Natasha, I won’t,” he said as he picked her up and moved her down to the floor, only so that he could drive for a second, knowing full well she wouldn’t complain, not even about the rug burn on her back. She smiled, satisfied with his answer, and he let it go. _Priorities._

Even later when they were both naked in bed and he could hear her even breathing as she slept against him, he figured it was the easiest promise he’d ever have to make. It wasn’t like something he did every day, especially not with Natasha around.

It’s not like he didn’t know how to delay gratification. As if waiting until the ripe old age of ninety-five for the “right partner” didn’t count for something.

When she left the next morning, her palm on his cheek as she kissed him softly goodbye, he was left feeling fairly confident about the whole thing. Easy-peasy, especially when he had girl like that waiting for him. Besides, wasn’t it better to save up for the big prize? She was worth it.

***

It wasn’t that he hadn’t been tempted.

Out of Sunday boredom or after a long day of office work, masturbating certainly was an obvious option. He hadn’t even thought about it the one morning before work when she’d only been gone a day, because his thoughts had just naturally turned to her when he was in the shower, and in fact to the last time that _they’d_ taken a shower together and just about nearly broken the shower door…

His hand had only been scratching, _promise_ , when he woke up and realized the error. Rationally, he figured it wasn’t like she’d even ever know.

But Steve Rogers was admittedly a horrible liar and stubborn as hell, and he wanted to prove to her that he had meant it. She was enough.

What he hadn’t thought about was the trifecta of his own masculinity, the fact that she had been gone for more than two weeks with no communication, and Tony Stark.

Of course any one of those factors would have been manageable alone. Two weeks. _Two weeks_ without anything, and he was pretty sure he deserved a medal or at least sex for days when she finally returned. And once he’d figured out methods of distraction (art, gym, reading, going for a walk, and even figuring out solitaire on his iPad), it hadn’t been so bad. A cold shower in the morning more necessary than coffee but at least he was honest.

He was probably a little more gruff than usual, but most were able to brush it off.

Like the time he’d asked Hill if he could get that file on the Hydra base “yesterday.”

He had to apologize for coming off so cross, and he knew he was standing in front of her desk with his arms folded and disappointment coursing through his veins, but she’d given him a look right back because if anyone could handle temper tantrums, it was Maria.

Or the time he’d been sitting in the lounge reading quietly, only to be interrupted by a storm of laughing and chaos because Barton and Darcy the Intern were running through with water pistols.

He hadn’t meant to tell them to dial it down and stop acting like children.

“Jesus, Steve. Next you’ll be telling us to get off your lawn…” Darcy rolled her eyes, aiming her gun dangerously at him. His glare put her in her place but he felt sorry for it later.

“Just ignore him. Nat’s off the grid…” Clint shook his head and led her out of the room. That he gave Steve an understanding nod as they left only contributed to the small ache developing in Steve’s chest.

He’d actually started writing out a list because he couldn’t get her out of his head, only able to draw so many skylines and trees.

 _Things he missed_ :

 _Her voice._ When she was happy, when she was tossing out sarcasm left and right, when she was turned on, when she was screaming his name.    

 _The way that she made anything fun._ Paperwork. Cooking. Shutting down a terrorist cell in the middle of the desert.

(That all of those things ended in sex was a point not lost on him.)

(Nor was the point that he was utterly unable to concentrate on anything without automatically thinking about her skin, her lips, the traces of vanilla on her skin even after a workout…)

Steve broke a few pencils before coming to the realization that he’d had some misconceptions, that maybe he’d underestimated his own needs after all. He wondered if she was struggling as much as he, if she was as tempted. He pictured her writhing on a cot in a random safehouse, her eyes focused sharply on him as she touched herself.

The fact was, he hadn’t made her promise not to do anything in return, the whole bet had been rather one-sided.

This thought alone had him running up his water bill probably to a scandalous amount. No amount of cold showers could get those images free from his mind.

But Steve held on, white-knuckling it because he felt disloyal otherwise.

***

He held on until Tony Stark. Of course.

“Christ, Cap. I don’t think I’ve met anyone before who needed to get laid more than you. How long’s it been? Two weeks?”

Tony asked all of this with a straight face while working on who knew what in the lab instead of actually listening to Steve’s request for someone to look at why his gauntlet had malfunctioned a week ago… Steve felt like he was talking to a wall, which was really nothing new, except for when Tony interrupted him with a glance and was suddenly interrogating his sex life.

Steve looked over at Bruce for help, except that Bruce took one glance before putting on headphones, as political a move as he’d ever seen.

“Seriously. Watercooler gossip says that you are walking around like a sexually frustrated soccer mom.”

“Just fix my gear, Tony…” Steve rolled his eyes.

“I mean. I’m not a doctor but you do know that modern medicine allows for rubbing one out from time to time…”

“And, I’m out. Just let me know when this gets fixed,” Steve sighed, not interested in a discussion on sexual health with Tony. Or anyone.

“Steve. Tell me you are cleaning your rifle.”

Steve took a deep breath and started to turn towards the door. Which was probably an answer because Tony kept talking.

“You aren’t are you? Oh my God. I order it. Go home right now and don’t leave until your palms are covered in blisters,” Tony looked up, actually serious and not sarcastic. “I think people are going to lose it if you don’t go home and let loose.”

Steve tried not to take offense to Tony’s advice and the way that he gave it without even flinching. He knew he’d been even more uptight than usual but he also knew Natasha couldn’t stay away forever.

The possibility that she actually _could_ stay away or worse was something he couldn’t even begin to entertain.

“Tony, I refuse to have this conversation with you,” Steve said assertively, hoping to shut the whole thing down.

“She’s coming home, Cap,” Tony met his eye.

The implicit second part to that promise was that he could only reasonably hold out for so long.

***

The straw that broke the camel’s back being the panic that she wouldn’t come back, the fact that he was indeed frustrated, and then the DVD that found its way onto his kitchen table.

A yellow sticky note in Tony’s shorthand saying “you’re welcome” stuck to the clear jewel case .

He was an idiot for playing any kind of DVD courtesy of Tony Stark. Especially an unlabeled one. What was he expecting, home videos of the team bonding over a softball game in the park?

Certainly not a cheesy electronic beat and “XXX Avengers” in bold lettering flashing through his TV screen in between frames of a naked redhead in various graphic positions with different men, moaning and pleading for more.

He probably stared for just a little too long before fumbling with the remote to turn everything off, looking around and hoping the neighbors hadn’t heard the sounds of sex coming through his walls. He couldn’t help but respond, least of all because the last scene on the screen had been of someone looking suspiciously like the Black Widow with someone’s dick in her mouth so deep that her eyes were watering.

It was embarrassing. Embarrassing that he was getting skin flicks from Howard Stark’s son of all people. Embarrassing because said skin flicks were surreal and voyeuristic versions of _his_ Natasha in the filthiest of positions, the thought making his own dry spell even more painful. Embarrassing because even though he logically knew that fake-Natasha was pretending and that a movie had nothing on the real thing, the visual had done nothing but make him hard enough that he thought he might pass out…

Steve made a mental note to punch Tony in the nose, not least of all because he was suddenly sure he was having a panic attack.

It took him an hour or so of shuffling around his apartment, banging drawers and fidgeting through a biography on Benjamin Franklin before he was cautiously circling the coffee table where he’d tossed the remote to the DVD player.

Out of curiosity, he told himself.

_Just what kind of actress did they hire to play Natasha? Who did they pair her with? How did his porn alter-ego compare?_

_Who wouldn’t pause to watch a dirty movie made in their honor?_

Looking over his shoulder, he took in a deep breath and pressed play, turning the volume down low enough so that he could only barely hear the cheesy dialogue and wooden acting.

He admittedly fast forwarded when fake-Natasha started peeling off her catsuit in front of Hawkeye.

Only to choke at the scene in which fake-Natasha did the same thing for his own porn counterpart. An unrealistic story about how aliens had hypnotized her into craving anyone she saw and how he was her only hope (at least temporarily) for relief.

Fake-Captain America didn’t hesitate, and it was only seconds before things were explicit. Steve _hated_ fake-Captain America.

He hated that he and Natasha were having ridiculous and even comical sex in an alternate universe. He hated that Natasha-in-real-life was AWOL and that he’d made some stupid, macho promise about self-control without thinking it through because he was stuck on tradition and ego. He hated that he didn’t know where she was. And he was definitely not happy with that fact that he didn’t even have to touch himself, because he was leaking just at the sight of a masked Captain in between porn Natasha’s legs.

 _She couldn’t realistically expect me to hold it together for as long as I have…_ he rationalized as he caved, his fingers stretching indecisively over his zipper.

_Maybe just five minutes._

As mentioned, Steve was a horrible liar, even to himself.

Which was how he found himself, cock in hand and eyes closed just listening to the sounds of his life-porn. An “oh Captain!” squeal, and he nearly squeaked himself.

Hearing Captain America on TV grunt and groan and whisper things that Steve would never dare say out loud, and he couldn't help work his own erection with a little too much enthusiasm.

“God, you’re so fucking tight…” his alter-ego groaned and Steve cursed in response, his cheeks burning because he knew that feel, knew that glorious feeling of her around him so tight that he felt almost claustrophobic with bliss.

The TV was a soundtrack of bass guitar and the filthiest screams he’d ever heard in his life, and he happened to open his eyes long enough to see fake-Captain America’s veiny penis spurting semen all over fake-Black Widow’s obviously equally fake breasts when he lost it himself, weeks of fluid and frustration in his hand and all over his clothes.

Embarrassing.

“You are in so much trouble…” a voice whispered in his ear, causing him to jump.

At first, he wondered if maybe he’d been hallucinating, as though the voice was his guilty subconscious peeking through.

The hot breath on his ear and that faint smell of vanilla told him otherwise.

“Natasha…” he turned, relief flooding his body because she’d been gone too long, a part of his daily life he realized he needed. Relief coupled with a hint of guilt because he’d been caught with his pants down.

“Tell me you were just watching a porn parody of us, Steve…” she smirked, coming around the couch and standing in front of him. She had her hands on her hips but he noted that she actually didn’t look angry or jealous, as much as worn out from wherever she’d been working.

He nodded, knowing full well he was red-faced even as he was fixing his pants and inwardly cringing at the mess he’d made. She looked a little disheveled and he figured she’d been traveling for hours but she’d never looked more beautiful.

“Natasha, come here…” he held his hand out, barely able to speak because she’d been gone too long. She obliged easily, letting him pull her into his lap (mess be damned) so that he could kiss her, hoping to communicate just how much he had missed her and needed her.

When she sighed into his mouth, he wondered if maybe she had forgotten or decided to be graceful. Over two weeks. It was an unrealistic promise, after all.

“I have to admit, it’s pretty fucking hot watching you watch us…” she whispered in between kisses.

He furrowed his brow and paused to look her in the eye. “You can’t leave ever again, it was torture.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet…” she grinned, nodding toward the television, which was still playing out its own indecent show.

“No, really. Natasha, it wasn’t just the sex part though that was a big part…” he argued, running a hand along her thigh.

“Are you trying to sweet-talk me into overlooking the fact that you promised something you couldn’t keep?”

“Natasha,” he moved his hands underneath her cotton t-shirt. “Unless the consequence is leaving and breaking my heart, bring it.”

She gave a content little moan as he paced his palms over her stomach, her back, her breasts, her eyes closed to signal that she was not going anywhere.

“Did you… touch? When you were away?” he asked, lifting her shirt over her head. She opened her eyes and nodded.

“Hypocrite…” he smiled smugly before planting a trail of wet kisses across her chest, listening carefully for the rise in her breathing that meant she was heating up.

“At least I wasn’t watching porn…” she answered, reaching back to unhook her bra.

“What did you think about then?” Steve challenged, deciding that he was definitely going to spend time respecting her very real breasts. He thought about maybe writing a letter to the filmmaker to say that if they were going to make a dirty picture, they might at least have gotten her fantastic tits right…

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she raised an eyebrow before gasping as he flicked his tongue against one of her nipples. He looked up and nodded.

“It’s not fair that you see what got me off…”

“Well, your mouth definitely played a role,” she cooed, hand moving to his hair in encouragement as he teased her.

“And?” he paused long enough to take his own shirt off.

“Well these were there too…” she leaned forward to kiss and lick his shoulders and arms.

“My mouth and my shoulders? That’s all, that’s easy.”

“Come to the bedroom and I’ll show you…” she winked, moving off his lap to stand up.

So he did, because he also wanted to show her the ways in which she was infinitely better than the actress who played her on TV.

And when he was satisfied that he’d redeemed himself, perched between her legs and tasting just how hard it had been for her to be gone, causing her to shudder and quake in round one and then babble and whimper in round two, he thought again about how one day he was fairly certain he’d have to convince her to marry him.

“Steve, I love your tongue but I miss your cock…” she panted, pulling him up so that she could wrap her legs around him and kiss his swollen lips.

He laughed, because he’d missed the way she told him what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to use any amount of dirty talk to get it. And then he was pushing inside her with no warm-up, desperate to fill her and mark her and anxious to get more and more as though he couldn’t get enough of hot and slick and tight _(it didn’t_ help that _his mind kept flitting to the scene with their porn-twins fucking like a movie reel he couldn’t stop_ ).

He wanted to tell her how perfect and beautiful she was. He wanted to say that he was grateful and thirsty and that she was the only one. She was a mess of moans and swears and fever below him and he couldn’t quite find the right words. He nipped gently at her throat, as though he’d mentally devolved into an animal, and Natasha _screamed_.

Steve was quite certain the neighbors heard everything.

But for once, he wasn’t concerned with how the sound of sex coming from Captain America’s apartment might impact his image. Natasha was biting her lip and he knew she was coming because he could feel her flutter around him. Which was all he needed because only seconds later he was gasping for air with his face buried in her neck.

He was pretty sure she was doing some kind of magic trick to squeeze every drop out of him but it was the best thing he’d ever felt in his life.

It was later, when they were on their backs and staring glassy-eyed at the ceiling that she asked him how she compared to the porn star version of herself. Steve turned his head and noted that she was serious, her face betraying a flash of the vulnerability he knew most didn’t get to see. Turning on his side, he reached over and traced patterns over her stomach.

“Natasha, she couldn’t hold a candle to you. There’s only ever you.”

It was the closest to admitting to her that he was in love with her, though he suspected she probably knew.

She smiled and looked over, everything about her soft and relaxed. Not at all like someone who could bring down ten men in five minutes with a paperclip.

“You’ve just told me that I’m nothing like the woman who plays me in the porno of my life. It’s funny how even the dirtiest conversations sound sweet coming from you.”

“That, by the way, was courtesy of Tony. I swear,” he added, hoping she wouldn’t hold it against him.

“Things I don’t want to know more about…” she sighed before rolling over to lay her chin on his chest, her eyes wide and looking up at him.

“Steve, you know that you are the only one too, right? So, I’m not jealous of you jacking off. Not even to shitty porn.”

He didn’t know, but the revelation was wonderful.

“I’m going to marry you one of these days,” he promised out loud, an exhale he hadn’t meant to disclose. His gut clenched but he looked down because she was silent.

And just like everything else, she was accepting. She didn’t recoil, even though that kind of talk hit her harder to the core than any discussions about sex and pornography, instead looking up at him with those same wide eyes.

He didn’t push the conversation further, of course, because she’d already given so much. The truth was that he felt relieved. And _safe_. Natasha Romanoff had done more to recover parts of him that he’d buried for the sake of who everyone wanted and expected him to be. He’d never felt so much like Steve Rogers and less like the projection, the national symbol, the good old boy who did everything right.

Natasha hadn’t given him a “yes” or a “no” or even a “that’s ridiculous”, something that anchored him down and gave him hope, so that he was mentally chanting as he stroked her shoulders and listened for the even breathing that signaled her sleep.

“God, I love you I love you I love you…”

**Author's Note:**

> So, in my research, I came across the real Avengers porn parody:  
> http://io9.com/5904205/an-exclusive-look-at-the-avengers-xxx-a-porn-parody-trailer
> 
> Problems: 1) No Captain America. WTF. 2)Clintasha. I mean, everyone in porn ships Clintasha. Or Natasha and Fury, which is a discussion for another day. I'm shaking my fist at this.


End file.
